Sin
by Erikthephantom07
Summary: John Wraith attested that he left 6 months after Logan. John Wraith lied. A series of snapshots from the final moments of Team X as it disintegrates one-by-one, all from the view point of the team's coward. Rated M for language and suggestive dialogue.
1. Team X: Routine

**Author's Note:** _This story is, essentially, a series of defining moments for each member of Team X (not including Logan. Sorry). All of them are narrated by John Wraith, professional bystander._ _Each character segment will be followed by one Team segment, like this handy-dandy prologue. Character segments will range over an arc of chapters.  
_

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It started out like any other day.

"RISE AN' SHINE! RISE AN' SHINE! JESUS CHRIST SAVE IT FOR LATER!"

Who needed a bugle boy when you had Wade Wilson?

"Mornin', Bradley, looking small and balding as usual. Sleep well last night?"

The man never seemed to sleep. He was awake when you went to bed, and awake when he woke you up.

"Hey, Fred, how's it hangin – whoops! Never mind, didn't need to see that."

Everyone always complained about how annoying he was.

"Wake up on the wrong side again, Zero? Maybe you should move it against the other wall…oh you can't. I guess you're condemned to be an ass every day, huh?"

And yet, with the exception of a select few, everyone always laughed.

"John. You ever take that hat off?"

"Not usually." I slept in the goddamn hat. Blocked out the constant fluorescent lighting. OK, so I might have lied to Logan when I told him I got out six months later. I did get out, six months later, but not after he did. I got out six months after the shit really hit the fan.

"Well, looks good," and Wade was gone. Sometimes it seemed like he could teleport. But then, of course, he was right back. "Listen, John, if Victor comes by, tell him I'm up fucking Stryker, okay?"

"Why the hell would I say that?"

"Fine. Tell him Stryker's fucking me, then."

"What the hell, Wade?"

Wade did a quick check of the hall and stepped inside my room again. Room. The thing was a goddamned cell. Cement walls, fluorescent lights, bolted bed and pisser. Only difference from jail was that the door was open. We all knew the score, though. This was prison. Those saps we were bringing in all the time, we knew the only thing separating us from them is that we had no conscious, no code. We killed for the luxury of an open door.

"Victor's probably going to kill me today, so let's just prolong it for as long as possible, and if he thinks I'm fucking Stryker, or, fine, that Stryker's fucking me he might let it go until at least lunch, and the cafeteria's having a meatball special. You know how much I like meaty balls, John."

I can't help it. The guy's a motor mouth but he can be damn funny when he tries. "Victor ain't gonna kill you, Wade."

"Oh I wouldn't bet on it."

"Besides, we don't even have a cafeteria."

Wade looked stunned. "Damn." And then he left, but not before poking his head in again and whispering, "Will you?"

"Yeah, Wade, I'll tell him you're being fucked."

"Thanks bunches." Wade's head was back a second later. "You could, you know, say _I'm_ fucking-"

"Wouldn't believe it."

"Damn. See you later." I waited a full minute for him to come back before getting ready. Sometimes you could never tell.

We often got about ten minutes every day to ourselves. We had a routine, regular like military clockwork but without the discipline. Wade woke everyone up, and depending on how long that took him we'd have ten minutes afterwards to do our business. I never liked to know what the others did in their ten minutes. I never asked. It was our only time to be ourselves. To be human. I guess that's why we always tolerated Wade. No matter what we were doing, he found a way to remind us that we were human, or at least, as close to human as we could get.

Me? I always wash off my face, slowly, just taking in the feel of cool, un-sanitized water on my face. I'd stare in my dirty mirror, and see whatever life I'd left behind. Then I took a piss.

"You seen Wilson?"

"I think Stryker's fucking him upstairs."

"….."

Yeah, this day started out like any other.

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_Reviews are welcomed and appreciated._


	2. Sleep of the Just Part 1

THE SLEEP OF THE JUST – CHRIS BRADLEY

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It was one of our easier days. That day was mostly devoted to travel. Our team, whatever the hell they were calling us – I think Wade called us Stryker's Strike Beotches but that didn't last too long – had been stationary while Stryker looked for leads on that damned rock he was so hot for. He still hadn't found any, but he had opted to continue his plan of rounding up the dangerous mutants. Apparently, there were some underground tunnels in Jersey Stryker wanted us to check out. So we were off.

We mostly worked out of Alkali Lake in Canada. It was quiet and deserted, and I guess that's where the appeal was. Me, I liked the hustle and bustle of a city. And I knew I wasn't the only one.

"Know what I love about Newark?" Wade, you see, has a sense of adventure. There we were, miles up in the sky in a very small, very enclosed space and he was directing an inane question at Victor Creed. Kid don't know when to quit. Gotta admire that.

"Wade."

"The crime rate's so sky-high that we can walk around in a slow motion V-Formation and no one gives a shit. Only people looking are the chicks who want to hit it. Except Bradley, no offense man."

Bradley just laughed. He was quiet, Bradley, but he was a pretty good man. Useful as hell, too. Just quiet. Didn't quite fit in. Much as Wade ragged on him, though, I think Bradley appreciated it. Made him feel part of the team. I don't know if that's why Wilson did it, I just know it helped.

"You plannin' on picking up any new and exciting girls to paint on your arm, Fred?"

"I ain't like you, Wilson. I love my girls."

"So do I. On my arm, on the floor, halfway out a window-"

"Wade, stop." That was Stryker. There was a man I never cared for but all of us followed blindly. I don't know why. He was a man on a mission and it was one I didn't like, but I kept following his orders. We all did. That don't excuse it, but there it is.

"Sorry, sir. Just excited for a little R & R, you know what I mean?"

"Right, Wilson, like any girl'd touch you."

"Just because no one's ever touched you doesn't mean it doesn't happen to other people, North." There was something about the way Wilson said Zero's name that made it sound like a joke. The hard 'R', maybe, or the exaggerated 'th'. Either way, it got under Zero's skin real good.

"Listen, you bastard, I –"

"Just drop it, Zero." Stryker sounded annoyed.

"Sir –"

"I said 'drop it.'"

Zero sat back, real pissy, and Wade continued on, an evil glimmer in his eyes.

"Let's go down, Bradley," Stryker ordered.

"Seriously, pal," Wade continued. "I'm now feeling uncomfortable. Can't you feel the tension? Victor could cut it with a fingernail."

Stryker, ignoring Wade (as always) turned to face us and I knew what was coming. "I have an appointment in one hour," he began, looking each of us pointedly in the eye. "Boys, you have all night. I want to see you at 0400 back where we land, understand? All of you. We have a big day tomorrow."

We nodded obediently.

"0400," he repeated.

More nods.

"All of you."

More nods.

"Alive."

"Damn…" Wade muttered.

We all managed to wait until Stryker had pulled away from the landing site in a ritzy black car before celebrating. And it was one hell of a night.

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I've always had a little problem with alcohol. When Logan showed up at my door after six years, I was a genuine certified alcoholic. Back in the old Team X days, though, it was just for fun.

I wandered in an intoxicated haze of bliss through one bar after another, not always aware of who I was with but not really caring, either. I ran into Dukes at some place called the "Pink Pony." He had a stripper on his arm.

"John!" he called, flagging me over. I attempted to navigate my way through the masses of people. By the time I'd reached him, after squeezing through barely dressed drunk girl after barely dressed drunk girl, I was grinning like an idiot. He introduced me to his girl, Bubblicious, and pulled me closer to him. "I think she's the one, John," he said seriously, his breath stinking of alcohol.

"No shit?"

"No shit."

"Cool."

At a joint across the street, the "Blue Donkey," I found Zero. He was sitting immobile with his eyes fixated on a woman in front of him. I didn't bother to say hi. I never liked that guy. Didn't want to talk with him. Figured he and Dukes'd be getting together to discuss their conquests anyway. Now there was a friendship I never understood.

Further down the road was a small establishment, the window of which exploded into a shower of glass and flame as I approached. I only had to hear the loud, raucous laughter of a certain individual to tell me to steer clear. I did glance through the flames to see Wade and some girl behind the bar, singing at the top of their lungs. I'm still not sure if either of them were wearing any clothes.

I didn't even want to know where Victor was.

I found Bradley by mistake. I needed another drink, bad, and I ended up in a half respectable place about 10 blocks down from Wade's destruction. The damn place was real quiet, with an undercurrent of easy jazz sliding out of the speakers. There were only a handful of people there, and I sidled up to the bar and ordered.

"Hey, John."

I had almost teleported out before I realized it was Bradley on a bar stool next to me, his empty glasses lining the counter. "How you doing, Bradley?"

"Not bad. And you?"

"I'm losing the edge; gotta bring it back," I smiled as the bartender brought me my beverage. "What time is it?"

"Bartender said he'd tell me when it's 3:30. I can't read the bloody clock to save my life."

"I can' e'en see my fuckin' hand," I chortled. I'd had a lot to drink. Work was going to be murder.

Bradley laughed the long, slow laugh of the drunk. Apparently, I was now the funniest man alive. Eat your heart out, Wade Wilson.

"Damn, Chris," I slurred after an hour. "You alright. Why dontcha contribute more t' the conversations?"

"Got nothing to say, mostly. Guess buncha mass murderers ain't really my type, eh? That's what we are, John," he said solemnly, his eyes wide and bleary. He leaned uncomfortably close to me, his retinas fairly twitching. "We're murderers. The lot of us. Just cos we don' enjoy it like Victor and Wade don' make us any less worse."

"Huh?"

"We're just as bad, mate. We're just as bad."

"3:30 fellows," the bartender announced.

"Piss off," Bradley muttered into the wood of the counter.

"That's real cute, Bradley, let's move now."

"Don' wanna go to work."

"C'mon, Bradley, let's move or Stryker'll have our asses."

"He already does, man. He already does."

"Stop fuckin' repeating yourself and get up – "

"Ladies!" Apparently, after getting shit-faced, blowing up half a bar, and (judging by the fact that he was now wearing only boxers that I'm sure weren't his) having a grande olde tyme with some lovely ladies, Wade hadn't hade enough. "Well ain't you the prettiest darn tootin' broods I ever done seen. And here's me combing every street corner in Newark to find me a nice diseased young lady when I coulda had you all along."

"Where're your clothes, man?" I asked. Bradley chuckled until he vomited.

"That's hot," Wade said, slapping his hand over his heart.

"How much've you had tonight?"

"Everything they had behind the counter. Either the bartender's taking a nap or I killed him -can't remember- but either way it was all free, as was the sex, since I think that was with the bartender's wife and daughter. At the same time. I'll pause for it to sink in."

"You been dreaming again, Wade?"

"Nope! This was all real. Victor was there, he'll back me up. He's my bro."

That explained the exploding bar, anyway. I repeated my question about the clothes.

"Dunno. Bit drafty, though, I get the feeling that these are kids' shorts. Anyway, let's pack up and ship out, soldiers!" he cried, snapping into a salute. "Colonel William F. Stryker is awaiting our arrival."

"'F'?"

"Fuck, Faggot, Farquad, Fat – the list goes on, my friend. What happened to the dweeb?"

I'd forgotten about Bradley. He'd ended up asleep in his vomit and the bartender didn't look happy. Oh and the vomit that he was sleeping in? My shoulder. Shit I did for this goddamned team.

"Oh I hear ya, pal. You sure sacrifice a lot for us." To this day, I can't remember if I actually had said any of that out loud. Between the two of us, Wade and I, we managed to drag Bradley singing through the streets and back to our plane.

Stryker had said 0400. We were all there by about 0430. Turns out he'd planned it that way, knew we'd be late for whatever time he'd say. Smart man.

"Wade," Stryker, of course, and I disentangled Bradley from the guilty party and we made our way to the plane, but not without hearing Stryker's raised voice: "This is really the last straw. I've told you before that those uniforms aren't cheap. Where are your pants?"

"Dog ate them. Didn't you, Victor?"

I plopped Bradley down on his spot in the plane and took my own opposite Dukes. His head was down on his chest, eyes shut. "Where in God's name are Wilson's pants?" he asked without opening an eye.

"Probably asphyxiating a bartender."

Duke chortled into his massive chest. "Guy's a nut."

"We're all nuts."

"Go back to sleep, Bradley."

"I won't. I can't sleep. I can't sleep."

"He's been doing that all night," I moaned.

"What, whining?"

"Repeating himself." With that, I pulled my hat down and dozed off.

Wade's the only person I know who is a perfectly functional and efficient drunk. His mouth doesn't slow down, like everyone else. No, his picks up its pace so that his words are slurred only in that he's talking faster. It's teeth-grindingly terrible to have to listen to that when you're hung over. To top it off, Bradley's flying was like a goddamn roller coaster. We had to snap him to attention every five minutes. He didn't doze off. He'd just zone out. Completely, and the whole damned plane would drop. By the time we finally hit the ground even Victor was grateful.

The mission itself was fairly straightforward. Stryker had mentioned the possibility of a chain of tunnels extending across a great length of the Eastern Seaboard. We parked our plane out by the beach and searched for any possible openings. Wade searched for buried treasure. Bradley sat in the sand, watching the waves wax and wane at his feet.

It was a very unproductive day until Victor caught a scent he was downwind of. Much as Wade tried to convince us all that it was him, and that he apologized for eating too much Mexican food, we knew we'd hit gold. Gold.

There was a small grate in a dune. There may have been an entrance to a tunnel then but it'd been crushed by rocks. All we found was a small cave at the mouth of the old opening and in it was a group of ten people, all women and children. They were mutants. One had huge eyes, the other the nose of a skeleton. Stryker asked if they possessed any other abilities aside from their mutated looks. They shook their heads.

"Useless." Stryker stepped away, turning his back on them and gazing out into the ocean. "We don't need them."

That was all Victor needed. He lunged at the nearest, ripping her to pieces. Wade sliced into the next as she tried to run. Zero let one go halfway down the beach before killing it in one shot. I teleported behind and slit throats. I didn't have to see their faces. Dukes crushed the last one. When we were finished, Wade asked where we were having dinner.

Bradley hadn't moved the entire fight. He'd stood in the back, not too far from Stryker, and stared. He had his pistol outstretched. I saw, right in front of him, the body of a child, the one with the big eyes, shot in the face. His gun was still smoking.

The plane ride back to Alkali was odd. The plane didn't even feel like it was moving. It was smooth. Thing was, Bradley kept forgetting to turn it. Stryker would have to remind him and we'd sharply double back to get on course. Bradley kept zoning out. We got back two hours behind schedule and we were sent straight back to our rooms.

I removed my shirt. I looked at my sleeves.

I'd been so distracted by everything – the drinking, the hangover, the plane ride – that I hadn't processed the massacre we'd committed. I sure as hell started to process it then. My shirt was littered with blood but the worst were the sleeves. Up to my elbows on both arms was all red. I burned my shirt with an old lighter and threw it in the toilet. When I was at the toilet, I heard Fred mumbling to himself behind my wall. I laid down on my bed and swore I heard those women in Africa, those kids back in Newark, and all the countless others I'd killed, moaning for their lives. Turns out it was Bradley behind the wall, crying.

I didn't sleep.

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_End of Part 1 of the Chris Bradley arc._


	3. Sleep of the Just Part 2

I sat on the edge of my bed. No mirror, no pisser – no usual routine. I couldn't bear to see my face. Dukes walked in but didn't say anything. He just leaned against the door frame. Bradley was still crying softly next door. I wanted a stiff drink…hell, I wanted ten stiff drinks.

It wasn't until Zero poked his head in that we even moved.

"Hey, Fred," he said casually.

"Dave," he muttered, still zoned out.

Zero appraised us for a moment. "We're leaving at 0900."

Dukes nodded. I didn't respond. "You hear me, Wraith?"

"Dammit, I heard you, Zero, now buzz off."

Zero shrugged coldly, leaving for Bradley's door. "Hey Zero!" I called. He reluctantly came back. "Can Bradley sit this one out?"

"No."

I told Dukes to ask Stryker the same question when we saw him at the helipad at 0900. "He can pilot, but he doesn't have to come out with us. Good enough?"

To be honest, I wanted to sit this one out, too. I'm not like Victor, Wade, or Zero. I don't enjoy killing and I'm not particularly good at it, either. Wade, funny as he can be, I don't think he'd hesitate to off one of us, just for the hell of it. He likes trying new things. Killing someone you know pretty well is probably something new. Zero's just a creep and Victor? Victor was an animal. Plain and simple. Only solace I found in working with him was that it assured me he was on my side and not the opposite.

I didn't ask, though. I'd just hang back on my own, like I always did.

Bradley looked like a ghost. His face was pale and his eyes were squirrely. He kept glancing from Stryker to Victor to Zero to Wade and back again. His legs were shaking and his head was bowed as he rushed past Victor. The animal sniffed him, looking intrigued, but was distracted by a sudden sneak attack from Wade.

"I knew I could get you, ya big softie!" He said, enveloping Victor in a bear hug. Bradley hurried onto the helicopter.

Zero's hand reached to his gun. Dukes straightened up, flexing his muscles. Stryker tentatively stepped forward. "Victor, don't do anything rash. Fred will take him off of you," Dukes was vehemently shaking his head, "won't you Fred?"

Sighing, Dukes cautiously made his way towards Victor who was, shockingly enough, standing still. It was eerie. The whole place was quiet. Even Wade, who was still wrapped around Victor. I had no idea why. "Wade?" Dukes asked carefully. "Wade, let go o'the man and git over here."

"But he smells like sun-dried buzzard."

"Jesus," Zero muttered under his breath as Victor smiled.

"C'mon, Wade, just let go, why don'tcha?"

"Just 'cos you asked nicely."

It happened in an instant. The second Wade's arms loosened Victor spun around, claws outstretched, and grabbed – air. We were stunned. At first, I honestly thought he had teleported until I saw him land a flash kick in midair on Victor's nose. Wade's feet were on the ground for a split second before he'd launched into another front half twist and landed gracefully behind William Stryker.

Victor turned menacingly but Wade spread his arms out. "How ya like me now?" And then he bowed.

"Damn," said Dukes.

"He's a dead man," said Zero.

I teleported inside. "Did you see that, Bradley?" I said as I sat on the bench. "Why the hell you think Wade did that? That's crazy even by his standards."

"They're all crazy, man," Bradley said quietly, but when Wade sauntered in Bradley gave him a weak smile. Wade cocked an eyebrow, a mischievous grin on his face, "You owe me down the line, matey."

"What's he mean?" I asked quietly.

"I'm dead."

Bradley got the 'copter off to a rocky start. "Go South," were Stryker's only instruction for a while. I think we headed North before turning around but I wasn't sure if Stryker noticed until he quietly said, "Bradley," and stared into him.

"Where to, Col-o-nel?" Wade asked.

"Back to Newark," Stryker responded. The plane hit a particularly rough patch of turbulence. "We weren't properly supplied yesterday. There's a crate full of dynamite in the cargo hold of this copter."

We all stared at the floor. "Bradley…" Wade said slowly, "you take us through any more turbulence and I will personally feed your balls to your mother."

"Amen," Dukes chanted.

The flight to New Jersey seemed to be taking a hell of a lot longer than it had the day before. It didn't help that Wade quietly began a rendition of "99-crates-of-dynamite-in-the-hold." He progressively got louder until he was stomping his feet and clapping his hands (at 73 crates) until Victor finally lunged. Stryker had dozed off so Victor was able to get in a few scratches before we pulled him off. Dukes chortled through the whole thing without moving.

"Jesus, Vicki," Wade spat out a wad of blood. "Sorry I skipped 74. I got into it."

"Stop or I'll chain you down. Both of you."

"I didn't do anything!"

"I'll tape your mouth shut, Wade."

"With duct tape?"

"With anything."

The plane seemed to pick up speed. I glanced over at Bradley. During the whole exchange, while Zero had snickered, Dukes had been laughing, Victor had been slashing and I'd grinned, Bradley hadn't even turned around. It wasn't until it fell silent for a second (a nanosecond, really) that I think he realized he was even flying.

"Duct tape, duct tape, duct tape."

"WADE."

"I was quiet!"

Victor lunged again.

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We'd hid the bodies well. There was no trace of the carnage of yesterday when we arrived, except in our eyes. Victor's got that glint, the look he had when he smelled blood, knew it was coming. His nostrils flared, his eyes were heavy and lidded and his fingers moved, ever so slowly. The worst part of it, though, was the little smile that crept onto his face. It was barely enough to move his massive facial hair (the "Squirrel Tail," as Wade called it) but it was there, and it was terrifying.

"Can I blow it up?" Wade asked, practically hopping at Stryker's shoulder. "Can I? Can I?"

"This is a delicate operation, Wade."

"I can be delicate."

There was an extremely awkward pause. "Zero."

"Yessir," Zero smiled, and motioned to Dukes to bring the crate from the helicopter. Bradley had landed it about a quarter mile away from yesterday's battleground. Dukes was sweating bullets by the time he was level with us.

"Gently, Fred," Zero said in a hushed voice.

"The hell you think I'm doing?" Dukes gulped as he walked to the entrance of that sewer tunnel, or whatever it was. Stryker seemed to be holding his breath. I stepped back. Wade was hopping up and down in excitement. Zero shut his eyes. Dukes' ribs expanded dramatically, and even he held his breath. His knees slowly bent, his huge legs straining, his back muscles rippling, his sweat gleaming. I could've sworn I saw the crate slip. Gingerly, he lowered himself and the box to the sand, setting it against the blocked portion of the tunnel. As the bottom was partially buried, the sand rolled away like water. We were safe.

"Open the crate, Zero," Stryker called from a safe distance.

"Delicately!" Wade chimed in.

Zero inched forward, his eyes locked on the crate. He didn't even notice Dukes hurrying away, patting him quickly on the shoulder. He got right down to business, slid the wooden top away, and took out a stick, applying the cord. Delicately, he replaced the stick into the crate and carefully, slowly, rolled the cord back with him to the water. We joined him very quickly.

Stryker bent down and took out a lighter. "Get ready, gentlemen," he said quietly, looking at each of us.

"Finally," Wade muttered, taking out a sword and swirling it. The others readied their weapons. I glanced at the helicopter. Bradley was inside. I couldn't see him. I wondered if he was finally sleeping, or maybe still crying. Or maybe just sick. I felt sick as hell as Stryker lit that cord and stood behind all of us.

The explosion was big, but not enough to alert any unwanted attention. The cement was blasted open. The tunnels awaited us.

Victor was the first in. He bounded in on all fours, his mouth open and a growl emitting from his throat. Wade had decided to race Zero to the entrance, like it was all some kind of game. He ended up tripping Zero with an incredible aerial kick to the stomach. I lagged behind. Very slowly.

At the mouth of the cave, I halted when I heard screams. One was Victor's battle cry, another Wade laughing, but the one I heard the best, the one I still hear every night, was a low, hollow moan. It was the sound of a wounded animal, a lost child, a mother. It was unearthly. Even Wade's laughter died down but not Victor. In fact, he got louder, and wilder, until that terrible moan abruptly faded into a gurgle.

I waited. Tell you the truth, I don't think I coulda moved even if I wanted to. Dukes finally came out, his face white as a ghost.

"What was it?" Zero asked, strictly business as usual.

Dukes just shook his head and stopped with his back to the cave.

Wade followed close behind, singing "There's No Business Like Show Business" under his breath. He didn't look at any of us; me, Zero, or even Stryker.

"Status report, soldier." Stryker was always able to get at least something out of Wade.

"_Nowhere can you get that funny feeling/than when you're peeling/a ripe banana…_"

Wade walked on out of that cave and didn't stop until he was waist high in ocean water.

The three of us looked warily at each other, and then turned our attention to the cave. It seemed an eternity before we saw Victor's massive silhouette lumbering toward us. That's got to be one of the most terrifying sights of my life. That huge shadow, engulfing that small space, walking with what I first perceived to be a limp, until I realized he was dragging something behind him.

"Jesus Christ," Zero muttered, and Dukes stepped a little further toward the ocean.

When he'd finally stepped into the light, I had to suppress a gag. He was covered in blood. The front of that goddamned black coat, his hands, but the worst part was the blood sopping down his chin.

"Dead end," Victor's voice growled.

"This was it?" Stryker asked, though I noticed he'd gone white, too.

"Seems like it was a sort of coven for a family, or a group of families." I could only stare at his mouth. "The cave didn't lead to a tunnel. It dead ended." My God, I'd thought, glancing at the body, he ate it. "There weren't many left." Her. It was a her. "They were dying off, anyway. When the tunnel collapsed it cut off their food supply."

"Damn." Stryker stuck his hands in his pocket and turned away from the grisly sight. Zero was trying to look anywhere but at Victor and I, I couldn't tear my eyes away from that sight – that face.

"Wade!" Finally I turned. Wade was trying to body surf on the waves. "Wade, get back here. We're regrouping. This mission is over."

"Why're we regrouping?" He called back, a wave smacking into his back. "Helicopter's gone."

We all turned. Bradley had left us a crate of food and buzzed off. "When…?" Stryker began, but cut himself off. "Leave that thing, Victor. I'm making a call and we're walking to the city. Let's move, men."

Wade skipped up the beach, still singing something to himself, and followed Zero and Dukes. I glanced back to see Victor stoop down to that body. I teleported to Wade's side.

"Shoulda let him sit it out," Dukes was saying to Zero up ahead. "Like Wraith said. You shoulda let Bradley stay at home."

"Not my call, Fred. Jesus."

"Saw him leave," Wade said at my side.

"You didn't say anything?"

"Would you've?"

I saw Stryker shouting into a cell phone. I remembered Victor's mouth, the blood. "When'd he leave?"

"'Bout five minutes ago, when Victor came out with his souvenir."

"Five minutes ago?" I hadn't heard it. I hadn't heard a thing over the sound of my blood pounding in my ears.


	4. Sleep of the Just Conclusion

SLEEP OF THE JUST - CONCLUSION

Wade volunteered to lead the one man Bring Bradley Back campaign. He started to go out one night a week and be gone for two full days, for "reconnaissance" as he called it. I'd thought – I'd honestly thought – that he had protected Bradley's secret, saved him from Victor's scrutiny, kept his daring helicopter escape under wraps, and now headed the search and destroy team, all out of a deep seated need to help other people. I was pretty damned impressed until I followed him one night about two months after Bradley had escaped.

Wade was always a sneaky little bastard when he wanted to be, so I got the impression that he'd catch onto me pretty quick. Oddly enough, he didn't. He was so focused on his task at hand that I honestly don't think he was aware of me. Then again, I can be pretty damned sneaky, too, when I wanna be.

He literally hopped a train at the station a few miles out from Alkali. From there, we steam rolled it all through the night, once jumping from one fast moving train to another going in the opposite direction. Wade laughed when he jumped. I panicked when I teleported.

Come dawn I was tired, freezing, and uncomfortable. If Wade felt the same, I couldn't see it. Hell, he was exhilarated.

We finally got off somewhere in Nowhere, Pennsylvania. I thought that if Bradley could've gone anywhere in the country why the hell would he have gone to fucking Pennsylvania?

"Helicopter was a distraction." Guess I wasn't so damned sneaky after all, I guess.

"How'd you know?"

"You're predictable, John." Instead of being pissed, however, he still seemed mischievously excited, like a second grade boy about to throw a spider down a girl's shirt. "And so," he glanced around, "is Bradley."

"Where the hell are we, Wade, and why the hell are we hunting Bradley?"

Wade's Cheshire cat grin stretched across his face. "Read the sign." He practically skipped away, gesturing up at a little green arrow outside of the station. He hopped to the right, looking like the Scarecrow in Wizard of Oz. I looked at the arrow pointing the way he'd gone. Even after a 14 hour, freezing cold, high speed ride from Canada to the United States, I couldn't help but laugh. Shaking my head, I followed him down the road to Intercourse, Pennsylvania.

_________----------------------------------------_________________----------------------------------_________

It seems the carnival was in town. By early afternoon people were streaming in to see the freaks, geeks, and brightly colored tents. The smell of popcorn, cotton candy, and refuse assaulted our nostrils as we walked in. I was fucking exhausted. Wade bought a T-shirt.

"Win me a prize?" he asked, batting his eyes. Cackling, he skipped over to a shooting range.

This was great. The clock was ticking towards three, I was already in dip shit as it was, sneaking out like that, and Wade was taking down every singly goddamned milk bottle and red target.

"John?" It was barely a squeak that made me turn around.

There was Chris Bradley, sitting nervously behind a tiny little box with a sign that read TURN OFF THE LIGHT BULB – 50 CENTS. "Bradley, Jesus," I hurried over. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You're not here for me?"

"No. I mean, yeah, but not really."

Bradley looked around. "I don't get it, mate." I looked down at the luminescent light bulb.

"Followed Wade. You guys been meeting or something?"

Bradley's face blanched. "Wade's here?" He stood up too quickly, banging his head off the ceiling of his little tent.

"Yeah, what's the matter?"

The light bulb abruptly shut off as Bradley grabbed his little box and bolted. I followed after him.

"The hell's the matter with you, Bradley? Wade let you go back there."

"Yeah, to torture me. Been following me ever since. Every week it's somewhere new and he invariably shows up. How the hell does he do that?"

"Doesn't he just want to hang out?"

"No!" Bradley glanced behind him as his pace quickened. "It's a game to him. It's all a game. I can't sleep, I can barely eat, I always think I'm going to see him around the corner, waving his gun or sharpening his sword or just laughing. It's all a bloody game."

"You repeat yourself too damn much, kid," I said, but now I was glancing over my shoulder. "Listen, I'll find him, tell him to you jumped ship and then we'll leave, okay? Don't sweat it."

Bradley mumbled incoherently to himself as he practically ran to what I assumed was his trailer. Bradley swung the door open and I was assaulted by light, color, and sound.

"S'good company," he muttered, as cheerful music swept out from the small television –

_Thank you for being a friend…_

"YES! MARATHON!"

_Traveled down the road and back again…_

"Jesus Christ," Bradley gasped, dropping that box. Wade sat on the bed, a bag of cotton candy in his hands, clicking his heels to the sound of the Golden Girls.

_Your heart is true…_

"Hey Bradley! Wanna watch?"

_You're a pal and a confidant…_

"I brought extra popcorn!"

He didn't even have popcorn. All he had was a huge smile on his face and a hungry glint in his eyes, that of a cat looking at a mouse he ain't quite ready to eat yet.

_And if you threw a party…_

"Wade, let's go, man," I tried.

_Invited everyone you knew…_

"But Stryker'd be pissed if we did that, wouldn't he Bradley?"

_You would see the biggest gift would be from me-_

"Wade, please," Bradley pleaded, his legs getting weak.

_And the card attached would say-_

Wade shrugged.

_Thank you for being a friend!_

"Oh, I love that song, don't you? Speaks to me as a person. And Miss Beatrice Arthur. Damn fine woman, wouldn't you agree, Christopher? I mean, those hips, the neck high dress…damn," Wade actually paused to smile appreciatively at the screen. "Oh shit, John!" he cried suddenly, staring at his bare wrist. "Look at the time. We'd better go if we want to catch our train!" Wade hopped off the bed, his head grazing a small array of lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling. "Bradley, it was great seeing you; we'll have to do it again sometime," he said, shaking Bradley's hand emphatically. Bradley looked like he was going to faint. "Onwards and outwards, Mister Wraith! Heigh ho, Silver!"

Wade left the trailer and Bradley sank onto the bed.

"Bradley…"

"He's going to kill me, man," he said faintly.

"He hasn't told Stryker."

"Doesn't matter." Bradley closed his eyes, his head falling into his hands. "Don't come back. I don't want to see you again."

"I'll try and keep him away," I said as I edged toward the door.

"He'll be back. I know he will."

I finally left, accidentally slamming the door behind and leaving Bradley a wretched mess on his tiny bed in his tiny trailer. It was the last time I ever saw him til I read he'd been killed in the paper.

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We had the greatest inside joke in the world, it seemed, because every time Wade saw me after that trip he'd always give me a huge grin, the look he often had right before a kill – the pride, the excitement, the malice. I'd seen Wade kill before, but I guess I'd always thought he had good in him. Despite all of the innocents, despite his clear enjoyment of that sport, I'd always believed that someone as funny (albeit annoying) as he was with his boyish good looks was just around to have fun, but that in the end he'd come out alright.

The Bradley thing, minor as it may seem when up against all of those killings, finally put me over the edge. See, the killings were bad, sure, but that was our day to day life, as perverse as that sounds. It was the norm. It was regular. That goddamned thing with Bradley, though, that just seemed low.

"You're always pouting at me, John," Wade chuckled some time later. "You keep that up and that look'll be stuck on your face."

"Wade, shut up," growled Victor.

"Sorry, Vicki, I'm just concerned for my fellow man is all," he said with that evil glint back in his eyes. "Seriously, John. You turn that frown right upside down."

"You like your little games of cat and mouse, Wade?"

"Um, yes."

"Don't bait him, John," Victor snarled.

"You know there's a bigger picture to that game, right?" I kept on.

Wade seemed to pause and think. "Hmm…cat goes and curls up in mistress's lap with some moist tuna from a can?"

"No, Wade. Cat gets killed by the dog. Goddamned food chain."

"Good thing _that_ was lame."

"Good thing that was _right_," Victor laughed, pulling back his jowls.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

_Conclusion of the Chris Bradley arc._


	5. Team X: A Wing and A Prayer

"I'm going to kill him! I'm going to fucking kill him! I'm gonna rip his fucking mother's heart out and feed it to his fucking mouth! I'm gonna rip out his fucking intestines and write 'fuck you' with his fucking entrails!"

Oddly enough, it wasn't Victor talking.

"Wade, shut up."

Oddly enough, _that_ was Victor.

"Seriously, Vicki, I'm gonna take out his fucking eyeballs and play fucking ping pong!"

"Vocabulary's improved," I chuckled to Dukes.

"Ping pong's a two person sport there, champ," Dukes laughed.

Wade finally stopped playing. "Damn. Hadn't thought of that. Wanna play ping pong with Zero's eyeballs?"

"Dave's my friend," Dukes shrugged.

Wade shook his head. "Don't say that, man, I'll have to fucking kill you, too. I'm going for the whole 'play with your food before you eat it' thing that Victor loves so much by offing Zero's friends and family first."

"Wade – I'm right _fucking_ here!" Zero cried.

Wade's hand shot to cover his mouth. "Oh! My bad! So how _is _your mom?"

Maybe I should explain: we were on a mission. This was one of the first missions since Bradley had bailed on us and it was definitely the furthest we'd gone for a while. India. Specifically, Kashmir and more specifically, the outskirts of the city of Srinagar. We tracking some sort of telepath who was, according to Stryker, on a global serial killing spree. Victor and Wade were excited.

The reason for Wade's unimaginative and yet incredibly detailed rant against Zero was sort of complex, albeit justified. There's one thing we all look for everywhere we go: food, wine, and women. It's not that difficult of a concept and Stryker was usually pretty compliant. There was always the occasional disembowelment of a prostitute thanks to Victor or the explosion of a bar thanks to Wade that got us on probation, but ultimately we were set loose in cities. In Srinagar, however, we were screwed and it was, to be fair, all Zero's fucking fault.

The flight over had been..._tense_, to say the least. Without our extra special mutant pilot Bradley, we were forced to resort to Zero, who claimed to have piloting experience.

"Bullshit!" Wade laughed.

"I do," Zero spat, his face getting very pinched and pissy. "I flew special ops in the war, I'm more than certified –"

"Oh! Oh! I have flying experience, too, Davey! I flew on the big yellow plane at the toy store!" He then proceeded to zoom around Victor in circles, making engine noises with his arms spread wide. Victor actually chuckled.

"Everyone in the plane," Stryker said casually as he walked in. "Zero's flying, and there will be no questions about it."

Wade shoved his hand in my face. "Nice knowing you, John." I shook it and laughed.

Special ops must've needed a lot of quick maneuvering with little to no down time because we spent a nearly 10 hour flight in what seemed like heavy turbulence. It was like sitting in a car with a 16 year old learning to drive or Wade when he got chauffeur duties for Stryker. It was a nightmare.

"We're lucky Logan peaced when he did or he'd be on the floor now," Wade said through his knees. In a flash, Victor grabbed Wade's hair and pulled him forward. "Ow! Jesus! Owowow…Hey Victor, what's shakin,' bacon?"

"I told you. I told you a million times."

"You've told me a lot a million times."

"Don't talk about my brother. He's off limits."

"Just making an observatio- OW!"

"Don't."

They stared at each other for a fraction of a second before Zero made the plane jumped and Wade got a face full of Victor's crotch as he tumbled forward.

None of us knew whether to laugh or shout, but I know none of us moved. Zero's eyes were straight ahead so he was the only one who missed it. Even Wade was frozen, waiting for the inevitable killing blow.

"Ahem," he coughed, and I prayed, honestly prayed for the first time in a _long _time, that he'd keep his mouth shut. But then I remember why I stopped praying. Those things are never answered. "Is that a grenade in your pocket or're you just happy to see me?"

Bradley would've laughed. Dukes had a deep rumbling in his giant belly that he tried to disguise as borborygmus.

Victor laughed, too, and then grabbed Wade's shirt and pulled him up so they were face to face. Stryker groaned.

"I just thought of something to keep your mouth busy, Wade," Victor growled.

"Betcha I was thinking the same thing!"

"Watch your back, kid."

"Can't. No eyes in the back of the head and all."

Victor nodded, that predatory smile on his face, and vaulted Wade across the aisle onto his seat. We all sat for a long moment until Victor put his head down.

Wade slid down the bench closer to me. "Seriously, man, there was something going on downstairs."

"You're bleeding, Wade. He's gonna fucking kill you."

"No way," Wade sat back with a cool grin on his face. "I think he's in love."

"Wade…" Both Victor and Stryker said it in unison.

"Don't be jealous, Colonel, sir," Wade said, his eyes wide and innocent, "I'll still come visit you –"

Wade leapt behind me (literally, and yes, it's possible) as both Victor and Stryker leaned forward menacingly.

"Hold on now, fellas," I tried, putting my hands up. "Let's all calm down. Obviously the kid's had too much sugar."

"After eight hours of nothing but cornmeal in a cramped plane? Gimme a break, John," Wade laughed.

I closed my eyes and groaned. Luckily, Stryker and Victor sat back and contented themselves with glaring at him.

"You can get down now," I said sourly.

"Says you," he moaned, but he did sit down. He sat for a second drumming his fingers on his leg. "Are we there yet?"

"Wade!"

Zero kept flying.

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_AUTHOR'S NOTE: _While this is just a Team X story, it is more of a prologue to the next story arc, which may come out sooner rather than later. In fact, the next story arc pretty much picks up at the beginning of this installment.


End file.
